SCENES FROM THE CLIMATE ERA

t’s a burning question. Climate change is one of those subjects that can make people switch off before the curtain has even risen. We all know the headlines: blazing forests, flooded towns, melting ice caps, unbearable heat. The danger with theatre on this theme is that it can feel like a lecture wrapped in stage lighting. But Scenes from the Climate Era avoids that trap with intelligence, wit and a surprising amount of heart.

Australian writer David Finnigan structures the play as a mosaic of short scenes and snapshots. At first these can seem almost random – fragments of conversations, warnings, jokes, moments of panic and denial. Yet gradually a bigger picture emerges. The production starts as a series of vignettes but slowly tightens its grip, linking its final sequences into something more dramatically cumulative and emotionally powerful.

This was a remarkably assured production by a seven-strong ensemble of Cambridge University students. The company attacked the material with infectious energy and total commitment. One moment the tone was comic and playful, the next deeply touching. The actors moved seamlessly between multiple roles and locations, creating a sense of a world in flux. There was no weak link in the ensemble playing: reactions were alive, cues sharp, movement fluid. Most importantly, they listened to one another.

The direction was dynamic and fluid throughout. There was a well-judged use of video projection – sometimes poetically abstract, sometimes cinéma vérité in style. The challenge of a play like this is pacing. Fragmented structures can easily become static or repetitive. Here, however, the staging constantly evolved. Scenes flowed into one another with increasing confidence, and by the later stages the production had found a compelling narrative momentum. What initially appeared episodic became cumulative: the sense of global anxiety and human fragility growing scene by scene.

Finnigan’s writing is especially effective when it takes vast environmental questions and roots them in ordinary human dilemmas. One scene debates whether paper bags are really more ethical than plastic. Another imagines a future in which birds survive only as virtual experiences. Elsewhere a young couple wonder whether it is morally defensible to bring a child into a warming world. A therapy session for climate anxiety draws uneasy laughter because it feels so recognisable. These are not abstract policy debates but people trying to negotiate fear, guilt and uncertainty in everyday life.

There were also moments of genuine poignancy amid the humour. Finnigan wisely avoids preaching. Instead he shows ordinary people trying to process something almost too enormous to comprehend. The production captured this balance beautifully. The audience laughed often, but underneath the comedy lay unease and vulnerability.

Particularly effective was the sound design, which created an atmospheric soundscape without overwhelming the actors. Subtle environmental effects, shifting tones and sudden intrusions of noise helped bind the disparate scenes together and gave the evening an almost cinematic texture.

The staging itself was relatively simple, allowing the focus to remain firmly on performance and language. That proved a wise decision. This is a play of ideas, certainly, but it is also a play about people: frightened people, resistant people, hopeful people and exhausted people trying to imagine a bleak future.

By the closing scenes, the production had built considerable emotional force. What began as a collage of climate-era anxieties turned into something more urgent and dramatically satisfying. These student performers handled the tonal shifts with impressive maturity.

Theatre cannot stop rising sea levels or extinguish forest fires. But productions like this remind us that drama still has the power to make enormous subjects feel personal, immediate and human. This was intelligent, energetic and often moving work from a highly capable young company.